


Reach Out

by Kangofu_CB



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Bubble Bath, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, But Nothing Too Bad, Clint Barton doesn't have a single romantic bone in his body, Crymaxing, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, M/M, Masturbation, Metal Arm Kink, Porn with Feelings, Sex Pollen, but he means well, just a little bit, mildly dubious consent inherent to the sex pollen trope, romantic sex, soft boys who love each other and won’t admit it, tub sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-04-08 01:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19097275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/pseuds/Kangofu_CB
Summary: Five times Clint touched Bucky's hand and his dick, and one time he didn't but Bucky came anyway.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Lay Your Hands On Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19063204) by [flawedamythyst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst). 
  * Inspired by [I Wanna Hold Your](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19055524) by [Nny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nny/pseuds/Nny). 



> This is all Amy and Nny's fault. I was egged on in the writing of this, please direct your complaints to them!!! But also thank you to both of them for being what I like to call Concentrated Inspiration.

Bucky’s skin feels like it’s  _ crawling _ .  It’s overheated and tight and he almost wants to claw it off.  He definitely wants to claw his  _ clothes _ off, he can’t stand it, it’s-

 

“C’mon Barnes, move!”  

 

The voice almost, almost captures his attention.  There’s shouting all around him, and the sound of firearms going off, and some part of Bucky’s brain is going  _ what the fuck are you doing _ but Bucky is completely incapable of focusing beyond the foggy heat in his brain and the rapidly-growing sensation under his skin.  

 

Someone - there’s someone with him, Bucky knows what’s going on, he just can’t  _ think _ \- someone grabs him under his shoulder and physically  _ drags _ him out, firing off shots and ducking around corners.  There’s a pained grunt that Bucky thinks he should probably care about, in a vague, distant sort of way, but he really just-

 

Cannot. 

 

He loses a lot of time in a heated fog of  _ wantneedtouchskin _ , and the next thing he knows, someone is smacking him lightly in the face. 

 

“Barnes, pal, you gotta focus.”

 

Bucky blinks back into awareness, just enough to place the back of the Quinjet and Barton’s concerned face staring down at him, all scrunched brows and worried blue eyes.  Looks a little like Stevie, but Bucky has never looked at Stevie and wanted to  _ touch _ . 

 

He turns his face into the cool palm of Barton’s hand and groans. 

 

“Oh fuck,” he manages, takes a deep breath of the smell of blood and cordite and something that is intrinsically Barton - intrinsically  _ Clint _ \- something he recognizes from months in the Tower, months of shared couches and video games and time on the range.  “Oh  _ fuck _ ,” he says again.   He runs his tongue over Clint’s fingers.  

 

“Barnes!” Clint says, but he doesn’t snatch his hand away, just shifts it so the cool press of his palm is on Bucky’s forehead.  

 

Something about the touch clears his mind a little bit, not enough to be coherent, but enough to be a little more aware that something is very much  _ not right _ .  

 

It’s about this time he realizes he’s got his hand down his pants and he’s jerking off furiously.  He manages to still his fingers, but he can’t quite drag his hand out of his pants, even though the last rational part of his brain is screaming at him.  

 

“What the fuck?” Bucky manages, sounding ragged and wrecked and desperate even to his own ears. 

 

Clint looks grim.  “Lab guys doused you with something, some kinda drug, I dunno.  I sent a blood sample off to JARVIS, and Bruce is cooking up an antidote, but I need you to try and calm down.  Your temperature is off the charts, you’re gonna cook your own brain. Bruce says-” Clint is looking distinctly uncomfortable, but determined.  “Bruce thinks it’s some kinda souped up aphrodisiac, lowers inhibitions, ramps up libido. Metabolism, body temperature, that kinda thing. Anyway he thinks a couple orgasms oughta take the edge off but uh-”

 

Clint glances down at Bucky’s crotch, where he’s still got his fist wrapped around his cock and he’s started squeezing rhythmically, unable to help it. 

 

“You’ve kinda been back here goin’ at it for a while and it doesn’t seem to be helpin’.”

 

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky says, and his arm jerks almost against his will, sending sparks of pleasure up his spine.  He leans into the casual contact of Clint’s hand, rubbing against it like a cat. It’s only seconds before he’s unable to keep still any longer, and his hand is dragging up and down his cock again, gaining speed, but it doesn’t matter how hard or how fast he jerks, he can’t manage to come.  

 

“Fuck,” he pants, desperate. “I can’t, I can’t-  _ fuck _ .”

 

Clint’s fingers are scritching along his scalp now, simultaneously soothing and distinctly  _ not _ .  “Yeah-” he says, then clears his throat, “-yeah uh, Bruce said you, um, might need a hand when I called back the second time.”

 

Bucky blinks his eyes open to squint at Clint, who still has that same determined look on his face, even if it is tinged a little with embarrassment.  

 

“We’re hours out,” Clint explains, looking- god there’s- his face is- Bucky can’t think clearly enough to place his expression.  “I’m- shit, this is the very fuckin’ definition of ‘dubious consent’ okay but- I can help?”

 

“ _ Please _ ,” is all Bucky can get out, besides his cock, which he practically rips out of his pants, and the sudden cool air is like a balm on skin he can already tell is chafing.  

 

“Alright,” Clint says, taking a deep breath, “okay, yeah.  I can-” He drops down to rest his weight on his calves, and reaches out with his left hand to wrap his fingers around the hand Bucky’s got on his own cock. He keeps his other hand resting against Bucky’s face, the touch still somehow grounding. 

 

“Oh god,” Bucky says, because the cool fingers around his own, grazing against his cock, are  _ exactly _ what he needs.  “Oh god, please.”

 

Clint lets Bucky lead, follows the motion of his hand, gripping tightly around where Bucky is gripping himself, and it is intense and overwhelming and the orgasm feels like it’s ripped out of him, like he’s been waiting ages for it, and maybe he has guessing by what Clint has said, but Bucky’s not thinking of that he’s not thinking of  _ anything _ , he just coming with a high-pitched whine that he can’t bite back and-

 

And it’s like he gets his mind back when it’s over.  

 

Jesus god.

 

There’s a sudden startling clarity to his thoughts - he remembers opening the door to the lab, knocking a couple of scientists out with barely a glance, and then getting hit full in the face with a beaker of some noxious-looking substance and then everything after that is a little bit lust-coated.  He’d managed to clear the lab, at least, and then there’s been a stumbling firefight in the hall, and then Barton’s anxiety-laced voice over the comms, and then he’d been dragged out of the compound and through the woods to the Quinjet.

 

And then there had been a humiliating amount of jerking off in the back, while Clint had set a course for the Tower, called a check in and-

 

“Oh god,” Bucky says again, but it’s a completely different connotation now.  

 

He can’t even meet Clint’s eyes.

 

Clint uses the hand on his face - his clean hand, oh god Bucky is going to  _ die _ \- to tilt Bucky’s chin up to look at him.  The look is evaluating, but not disgusted. He doesn’t even look all that bothered, except for the faint flush across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.  

 

“Better?” Clint checks, and Bucky can at least nod.

 

“Yeah,” he croaks out.  There is not a strong enough word for the emotions he’s feeling right now, embarrassment doesn’t even begin to cover it.  “Thanks.”

 

Clint quirks a little smile, something that is almost a smirk.  “Anytime,” he says, and then  _ winks _ , like a fucking asshole.

 

Bucky rolls his eyes, and that little bit of familiar banter is enough to settle him some, to right the world back on its axis.  

 

Clint stands fluidly from his crouch, gives his come-covered hand - and okay the world is not totally back on its axis jesus h. christ - a contemplative glance before shrugging, and wipes it off on his tac pants.  “That should buy you a couple of hours, according to Bruce. We should be back in New York by then, and the science bros will get whatever it is sorted out.” He turns to head back into the cockpit. “If it gets bad again, gimme a shout.”

 

Bucky closes his eyes.  He is absolutely  _ not _ going to give Clint a shout, but he grunts in something that can be easily misconstrued as agreement.  

 

Clint grins like he knows exactly what Bucky’s thinking, but he doesn’t argue, just saunters to the front of the jet like he hasn’t just given his teammate a goddamn handjob for the sake of not turning his brain to goo.

 

What the fuck is Bucky’s life?

 

**

 

Bucky’s life, as it turns out, is a ragged bout of more lust-filled thoughts that he just barely manages to keep a handle on as they’re landing at the Tower, and then a couple of hours in the lab where Bruce injects him with something while Tony techno-babbles about chemical compounds, and then they all wait in awkward near-silence to see if it’s going to work.  Then they wait another hour or so to make sure Bucky’s vital signs have stabilized. 

 

Once Bruce starts making noises about keeping him in medical overnight for observation, Bucky books it like a scalded cat.  He is absolutely not going to sit in medical all night. If he starts feeling any unnatural arousal, he’ll hoof it back down, but for now he’s going to his room where he can wallow in his own embarrassment and try to forget this day ever happened. 

 

He goes upstairs and runs the hottest shower JARVIS will let him have, and then scrubs himself from head to foot with single minded determination.  

 

He pointedly ignores his cock. 

 

Because it is a traitor. 

 

Yeah, Bucky’s been harboring some private Clint-related fantasies, but they were meant to be just that - fantasties.  He’s just begun thinking about working up the courage to ask the guy for a goddamn coffee and now their first date is a mission-sanctioned  _ handjob _ . 

 

To say Bucky’s pissed is also a little bit of an understatement.  

 

He didn’t even get to return the fucking favor. 

 

It’s bullshit. 

 

Bucky pulls on sweats and an old t-shirt, and flops down on his couch, disgruntled as fuck.  He’s just about worked himself up into a fit of pique that’s going to end in either a broken punching bag or a crying spell - the jury’s still out - when his phone pings.

 

_ Pizza and Mario-Kart? _

 

It’s from Clint, because of course it is.  Clint is the only person in the whole goddamn tower who seems to understand Bucky at all, half the time, though Steve tries.  Which is one of a hundred thousand reasons Bucky’s been harboring a tiny, secret crush that he’s been thinking about testing the waters of but hasn’t quite worked up the courage.

 

Well, fuck it, Bucky decides.  Clint’s already has his hand on his dick, might as well go for broke. 

 

_ It’s a date _ , he sends back, and levers himself off the couch to go directly to Clint’s floor before the idiot can work himself into a lather over whether Bucky’s just saying that ‘cos it’s a thing people say, or if he means it. 

 

The elevator ride is short, but Bucky can already tell Clint’s mind is working overtime when he opens the door, looking a little hesitant and a little confused and a little hopeful. 

 

“A date-date,” Bucky clarifies.  “If you wanna. I mean, we already made it to third base so-”

 

Clint yanks him inside, slamming the door with Bucky’s back as he’s pushed against it and his mouth is plundered with the kind of pent-up heat that makes him wonder if Clint’s been nursing his own not-so-secret crush.

 

He wraps his arms around Clint’s shoulders and angles his head for a better kiss.

 

This, he can definitely work with.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Amberly who graciously beta read this and made sure it wasn't garbage.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky doesn’t know what the fuck he’s  _ doing _ .

 

He does know, actually, that’s not entirely true, he’s just… fuck, he’s unsure of himself and unsettled and fucking  _ sweating _ from a nightmare so gut-wrenching he’d woken up retching and he’s-

 

He’s left his own apartment and made a beeline for Clint’s without thought, because the back part of his brain that seeks safety in the dark - the part of him that recoils from the horrors of his mind - that part of him has already associated Clint with  _ safe _ and  _ good _ . 

 

Which is how Bucky finds himself in Clint’s bedroom at oh-dark thirty in the morning, smelling of fear-sweat and shivering a little in his hoodie.  

 

It only takes about thirty seconds before it occurs to him that  _ maybe _ creeping into a former-assassin-turned-skilled-SHIELD-agent’s room in the dead of night is not one of the smartest ideas he’s ever had.  Clint, however, snores on, oblivious in his bed, and Bucky is now stuck. He’s caught between what he wants and what he  _ should _ do and he also doesn’t want to startle Clint into violence and leave both of them shaken-up messes. 

 

“Sergeant Barnes.”

 

Bucky jumps at the sound of his name, but it’s only JARVIS.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky clears his throat, trying to get rid of the grating that reminds him he’d probably been screaming before he woke up.  “What’s up Jay?”

 

“If I may, Agent Barton has a ‘soft awakening’ protocol that I can initiate for you, so that you don’t cause him any undue distress.”

 

“Yeah that’d- that’d be good Jay, thanks.”

 

JARVIS doesn’t say anything else, but the lights in the room slowly come up, until they’re a warm, golden glow, and then there’s a distinct buzzing noise that Bucky associates with cellphones rattling and it takes him a minute to realize it’s Clint’s  _ bed _ , buzzing away in a steadily-increasing staccato.  

 

“Kinky,” Bucky mutters, almost cracking a smile.  

 

Clint rouses slowly, rolling over onto his side and groping for his phone.  

 

“Aw hell,” he mutters, seeing the time, and scrubs the sleep out of his eyes.  He reaches for his aids and is slipping them into place when he turns a little further and catches sight of Bucky, hovering in the doorway like a wraith. 

 

“Buck?” he asks, looking concerned and confused and sleep-rumpled.  

 

Bucky takes a jerky half-step forward, and then stops, uncertain of his welcome.  

 

They’ve been dancing around each other a bit, the past few days. 

 

There’d been the mission-related handjob, and then a lot of kissing, and then a lot of doing the exact same shit they’ve always done except with a lot more kissing but not much else, and it’s left Bucky in a weird state of limbo he’s not too sure about. 

 

“You alright?” Clint asks, raising up on his elbow and letting the sheets slide down to his waist. His bare, naked waist because he doesn’t have a shirt on and Bucky-

 

Any other time, Bucky’d be all about that, but right now he’s just out of sorts and edging towards desperate.  

 

Bucky shakes his head in the negative, just a quick jerk that belies how off-balance he feels. 

 

“C’mere,” Clint says, and he lifts the sheets up, motioning Bucky towards him.  

 

Bucky edges into the space, sitting tentatively at the edge of the bed and then pulling his sweatshirt off, because he knows he runs hot, and with two people in the bed he’ll be sweating before long, but the cool air of the bedroom still makes him shiver in the thin cotton of his t-shirt.

 

“C’mon,” Clint tells him, reaching for his waist, “get in here.”  He tugs Bucky back into the bed, up against his chest and wraps an arm around him.  It only takes a few minutes for Bucky’s shivers to subside, but he can’t  _ relax _ .  He can’t let go of the nightmare and he can’t stay still in the bed, however good it feels to have Clint holding him close and however much he wants to just enjoy the comfort.  He can smell his own sweat and it’s mingling up with the scent of Clint’s deodorant and detergent and his  _ skin _ and Bucky doesn't like it.  Doesn’t like the way he’s mixing up his fear with his safety and he’s restless.

 

“Can’t sleep?” Clint mumbles into the back of Bucky’s neck.

 

“Sorry,” Bucky whispers back, fingers tightening where he’s tangled them with Clint’s.

 

“S’fine,” Clint says, still sleepy, but he sits up, stretches until his back pops.  “Let’s try somethin’ else.”

 

He drags Bucky out of bed and into the frankly opulent bathroom attached to the bedroom, where he starts the water in a tub large enough to fit at least three grown men, even if they’re Clint and Bucky-sized, and then he dumps in an unmeasured load of bath salts that smell vaguely of menthol and something richly floral but not sweet.  When the tub is half full and steam is rising off the water, Clint strips his sleep pants off, revealing he’s got nothing on under them, and reaches for Bucky’s clothes.  

 

Bucky hesitates, just for a second, because they haven’t  _ done _ this yet, they haven’t got naked, they haven’t-

 

And then he just gives in, succumbs to whatever comfort Clint is trying to offer him and allows himself to be undressed.  Clint steps over the edge of the tub and tugs Bucky with him, settling both of them in the water that’s just this side of too hot so that Bucky’s leaning against Clint’s chest and Clint is resting his head on the edge of the tub.  When the water reaches their chests, Clint sticks his foot out and turns the tap off in a clearly-practiced move that makes Bucky wonder how often Clint soaks himself in hot baths.

 

The water is soothing though, relaxing tension Bucky hadn’t been one hundred percent aware of, and soon he’s laying his head back on Clint’s shoulder and sinking further into the heat.  

 

“Can I wash your hair?” Clint says, into the deep, almost-contented silence of the room.  

 

“Why?” No one, as far as Bucky can remember, has ever washed his hair.  Maybe his Ma did, a long, long time ago, but he’s got no recollection of it.  

 

“‘Cos I want to,” Clint says and Bucky shrugs, then sinks down into the water far enough to get his hair wet.  

 

The feeling of Clint scrubbing his fingers against Bucky’s scalp is one of the top ten most relaxing things Bucky has ever experienced.   He groans a little at the contact, and again when Clint finally tells him to rinse. He does conditioner next, scraping it through the strands of Bucky’s hair over and over until Bucky feels like a cat who wants to drape himself all over everything, boneless and on the verge of purring, and then he rinses that too.  

 

Then Clint picks up a bar of soap and scrubs up a lather and starts running his hands over every inch of Bucky he can reach, from his shoulders to his fingertips, until his right hand is tangled with Bucky’s and he’s rubbing soapy fingers over his legs and thighs and cock.

 

It should be arousing - and it is, at the lowest level, something warm curling in his gut - but Bucky is so relaxed, so comfortable and feels so cared for, that mostly he just sighs into the contact and relaxes further into Clint’s embrace.  

 

He’s practically putty by the time the water is cooling off and Clint is coaxing him out of the tub, drying him off with a thick cotton towel and helping him into a pair of threadbare pajama pants.  

 

This time, when Bucky gets pulled into the bed and wrapped up in Clint’s frankly ridiculous biceps, it’s easy for sleep to find him, because it’s all  _ safe, safe, safe _ , all the fear drained out of him along with the water. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Clara for the amazing ‘intimate bath’ idea!!!!!! And to Lissa for giving it a good beta read!
> 
> This chapter meets my "Nightmares" square for Clint Barton Bingo!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning after! There should be a portmanteau of ‘panic’ and ‘romance’ because that’s what this is.
> 
> Pance?
> 
> Romanic?
> 
> I’ll workshop it.

Bucky wakes up warm, comfortable, feeling cared for and cherished and a whole host of emotions he is not prepared to have.  

 

Clint is draped over his back, his arm lying heavily over Bucky’s waist and his breath hot against Bucky’s neck, and Bucky knows, with a sudden jolt of terror-filled wakefulness, that what he’s been harboring for the other man is not a _crush_.

 

That would be simple.  That would be _easy._

 

That would be something Bucky could navigate, especially after all the careful coddling Clint had provided him with last night.  After the kisses in Clint’s apartment and the pizza they’ve shared and the dumb competitions on the range - a crush Bucky could handle.  That’s like ridin’ a bicycle, flirting and being handsy, and chatting up a good-looking person you don’t mind swapping spit with.

 

No, what Bucky has is a goddamn broken heart waiting to happen.

 

Bucky is well and truly fucked.

 

Because Bucky is pretty sure he’s in goddamn love with the absolute disaster that is Clint Barton.

 

Natasha is going to murder him.  No one will ever find his body. She’ll donate his arm to Tony for science, and the rest of him will never be seen again.

 

Bucky takes a deep breath, holding carefully still as he falls completely apart.

 

He debates slipping out of the bed, retreating back to his own room to wallow some more.  He knows Clint would let him. Knows that Clint wouldn’t even blame him, would understand the need to hide and lick his wounds, to spare himself the embarrassment after cracking himself wide open last night, after exposing the soft, tender parts of himself to someone else.  Bucky suspects that if the situation were reversed, Clint would have been long gone before Bucky ever woke up. Or that Bucky would at least allow him the dignity of pretending to sleep through his escape.

 

So Bucky considers it, even goes so far as to shift his legs under the sheets, untangling them from Clint’s calves and scooting them so that one foot is out of the covers.  Clint doesn’t do anything except nuzzle into the space between Bucky’s shoulder blades a little bit more firmly, muttering something not even Bucky’s hearing catches.

 

But he’s comfortable, and warm, and well-cared for, and just as he knows Clint wouldn’t judge him for running away, he also knows Clint isn’t gonna judge him for staying, either.  

 

Clint might even be happier if Bucky stays.  

 

It’s not like running out is gonna make him any less in love with the idiot.

 

What the fuck is Bucky even supposed to do with this mess of feelings sitting in his chest?  Isn’t love supposed to feel _good?_  Mostly Bucky just feels vaguely nauseated and kinda afraid.

 

Not of Clint, exactly, but of what this could do to them - or even to the team - if it all goes down the shitter.  Bucky’s not stupid enough to think that falling in love with a teammate is a good idea, and he’s definitely not stupid enough to think the fallout won’t matter if it doesn’t work out. Bucky hasn’t been that kind of stupid since 1944.  Bucky’d been easy with his affection then, a little too free with his heart, had come home with it bruised up more often than not, but always willing to dive in again after. Now, Bucky’s not so sure his heart can take any more bruising, and Clint’s got the capacity to do much worse than that and he doesn’t even _know._

 

His thoughts are derailed by Clint shifting closer, breath heavy and even and obviously still asleep, dragging his hand down Bucky’s bare chest and lower, until he’s got a possessive hand on Bucky’s cock through the pajama pants, and Bucky can’t help the snort of laughter.  He reaches down to dislodge Clint’s hand - because yeah, he enjoys Clint’s hands on him, but he at least wants him to be awake - but Clint only squeezes that much firmer, startling a groan and a spark of arousal up Bucky’s spine.

 

Bucky reflexively rocks into the touch, squeezing his own hand around Clint’s and arching his back.

 

Something about the motion must finally disturb Clint’s rest, because instead of the random snuffling at the back of Bucky’s neck he’s been doing, Bucky feels a slightly more purposeful brush of lips against his skin, and then Clint’s hand squeezes underneath his own, making Bucky’s hips jerk.

 

“Good mornin’ to me,” Clint mumbles, stroking his hand up Bucky’s cock.

 

“Fuck,” Bucky says, and releases Clint’s hand to reach behind him, grasping at the back of Clint’s neck, arching into Clint’s touch.  

 

Clint takes that as the permission that it obviously is, letting go of Bucky’s dick just long enough to shove his pajama pants down his thighs and wrangle his own to his knees, and then his hand is back, hot and calloused wrapping around Bucky’s bare cock.  Clint’s dick is nudging at his backside, hot and hard and _goddamn it_ Bucky hasn’t even got to touch it yet, has barely even got a glimpse of it, and he’ll be _damned_ if this is gonna end in another fucking _handjob_.

 

Bucky reaches down and grabs Clint’s wrist, tugging it off of him, and he feels Clint tense up behind him.  Before Clint can get himself all worked up about whether this is what Bucky wants, Bucky manages to get himself rolled over, kicking off the tangled pajama pants as he goes, until they’re facing each other.

 

Clint looks warm and sleep-rumpled, flushed with arousal and a little bit sheepish when Bucky finally gets sorted, once they’re facing each other and he’s pushing Clint’s pants off with his toes.

 

“Hi,” Bucky says, a little breathless. Or a lot breathless, if he’s being honest.

 

“Hey,” Clint says back, and he’s watching Bucky like he can’t get enough of him, but also like he’s a little afraid of him, too.  Like he’s just as tangled up inside as Bucky is.

 

Bucky decides he doesn’t need to decide anything right now, except what position he wants to do this in.  And maybe they’re skipping a few steps and maybe they’re rushing, but Bucky _knows_ Clint, knows him like he knows Steve.  Better than, even, because Bucky’d never have predicted that Steve would go sign himself up for some goddamn experimental radiation treatment to join a goddamn war, and he can pretty much guarantee that Clint would never do that shit.  

 

He’d just burn his 4F papers, sneak over enemy lines, and shoot the bad guy in the dead of night and-

 

Yeah, okay, Bucky probably knows Clint a little better than he knows Steve.  

 

This time, Bucky gets his hand around Clint’s cock.  It’s still hot and hard in his palm, damp at the tip like Clint is already so worked up he can hardly stand it, though they’ve barely touched each other, and when Bucky squeezes, sliding his fist up far enough that the head of Clint’s cock slips through the tight ring of his fingers, Clint groans like he’s _dying._

 

“Good morning to _me,_ ” Bucky smirks, repeating the motion.

 

Clint’s grasping at his shoulders now, still watching Bucky’s face with a kind of adoration that Bucky’s not sure he quite knows what to do with, but he doesn’t object to Bucky manhandling him and thrusts into his fist in abortive, jerky movements.  His eyes keep flicking down, where the sheet has got rucked to their waists and every time Bucky strokes upward they shift just a little bit more, revealing his actions like a dirty little tease. It’s like Clint is torn between watching Bucky’s face and watching Bucky jerk him off.

 

“Hey,” Bucky says, using his free hand to tilt Clint’s chin up and catch his attention.  He doesn’t have his aids in, but now he’s watching Bucky’s mouth, so Bucky hopes he’s paying attention.  “I wanna make _you_ come this time,” Bucky tells him.

 

Clint makes another one of those about-to-die noises.

 

“Oh god,” he says, a little loud and toneless, but he’s also breathless and flushed and rocking in counterpoint with Bucky’s stroking fist.  “Okay. Yeah. That’s-” he trails off, groaning again as Bucky’s hand speeds up.

 

Bucky huffs a little laugh, too turned on for much more than fleeting humor.  His fist is getting slick around Clint’s cock, pre-come providing the lubrication that is probably sorely lacking from Clint’s perspective, so Bucky tries to gentle his touch a little bit, only to have Clint reach down and squeeze his fist back tighter.  When Bucky complies, Clint lets go, wrapping his arm around Bucky’s shoulder. He scoots in further until their bodies are pressing together tightly, one arm under Bucky’s neck and his leg slotting between Bucky’s, giving Bucky something to press his throbbing cock into.

 

Clint’s lip is tucked between his teeth, and he’s arching his back, but he’s stopped looking down, seems content to just watch Bucky’s face as Bucky strokes his cock and ruts against his thigh.  Bucky can feel his own orgasm approaching, and it’s going to crash over him even harder than the drug-fueled one he’d had in the back of the Quinjet, because this one isn’t about getting off as much as it’s about _getting off with Clint_ , which makes way more difference than he ever thought it would.

 

“Gettin’ close,” Bucky warns, and Clint slides his hand from Bucky’s neck to his lower back, pressing his palm against the base of Bucky’s spine and urging him on.

 

“Me too,” Clint grunts, and then his eyes flutter shut as he sucks in a short, sharp breath just as he comes all over Bucky’s hand, Bucky’s abs, and himself, his nails digging into Bucky’s back.  He’s nearly silent, which surprises Bucky because if he’d thought about it at all - and okay, he’s thought about it a _lot -_ Bucky would have expected Clint to be noisier.  Instead the sound he makes is like a soft sigh, something quiet and private - just for them.

 

Bucky holds himself still as Clint pants for air, his head thrown back and his eyes closed, his hips jerking sporadically in Bucky’s fist as Bucky strokes him through the orgasm, eventually easing his touch until he’s just cupping Clint’s cock in his palm, wet and sticky.

 

They’re breathing heavily together, Clint slowly coming down and Bucky just barely reining in the desire to roll Clint over and rub off on him until they’re both covered in come and sweat and-

 

Then Clint opens his eyes and shoots Bucky an absolutely _filthy_ grin.

 

“Your turn,” Clint says, and shoves, flipping them until Bucky is underneath him, swiping his own come off of Bucky’s hand and slicking it against his thigh, which should be disgusting but actually trips some part of Bucky’s brain he hadn’t been aware of and instead it’s just _hot,_ because Clint is grinding down against him, Bucky’s cock in the crease of his thigh where it’s all hot and wet and slippery and he had already been so close, almost since the moment Clint had got his hand on Bucky’s dick and-

 

He’s staring up at Clint when the wave of pleasure crests and sweeps him under, looking up at his flushed face, at his lust-dilated eyes, at the way Clint is watching him greedily, watching his eyes and his mouth, and Bucky _knows_ Clint can’t really hear him but he can’t stop himself groaning out Clint’s name anyway.  Clint must read it on his lips because he makes a shocked little noise, like he hadn’t expected Bucky to say _his_ name, and then Bucky is just _gone_ , his brain off in the stratosphere as pleasure curls his toes.

 

“Oh fuck,” Bucky says, as Clint gathers him up and they’re slumping together, Bucky’s face buried in his collarbone.  “Oh god, I think I love you.”

 

He doesn’t mean the words to slip out, but they hang in the air, and Bucky’s heart trips a little in momentary panic before he realizes Clint hasn’t reacted, hasn’t heard a word he’s said anyway.

 

There’s a tiny part of him that’s disappointed, but mostly he feels relieved.

 

He’s not quite ready for Clint to know how he feels about him, because it’s overwhelming enough to just _feel_ it, and they’ve only just acknowledged that there’s even anything between them.

 

It’s definitely way too early to be hurling the word _love_ around, Bucky thinks. But as they lay there, curled up in the tangled sheets, sorely in need of a shower, Bucky’s pretty sure it’s not something he’s gonna be able to keep to himself for very long.

 

Then Clint kisses him, all soft and sweet and tender, nothing at all like the heated, almost desperate way they usually kiss, just sated affection and the edges of a goofy smile curled on his lips and Bucky kisses him back at the same time he kisses his heart goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Steph for kindly giving this the quickest and best scream-filled beta!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumb boys with emotions they won't admit to: take 2.

Bucky groans, arching into the contact.  All he can focus on is the hot, wet sensation of Clint’s mouth and the utterly _obscene_ sounds it’s making in an otherwise silent room.  He’s got his left hand tucked up under his pillow, where he can’t accidentally grab anything he shouldn’t.  Like the furniture, or, god forbid, Clint’s head, and Clint is sucking his cock like it’s his sole purpose on earth.  

 

It’s not like it’s Bucky’s first blow job.  He’s had his fair share - he can even remember some of them, in back alleys and dark clubs, where the street lamp’s light didn’t quite reach, or where the cops weren’t known for raids.  Even a few in the apartment he’d shared with Stevie, and a handful accompanied by lipstick.

 

None of them had ever, ever felt like this.  

 

Clint sucks dick with the same kind of focus and enthusiasm he shoots with, although a fair bit sloppier.  Bucky’s cock has Clint’s entire undivided attention. Bucky can hear the slurping, the sound of his mouth sliding up and down his skin and he cannot, for the life of him, bring himself to look, because if he looks he might _literally die._

 

Instead, his right hand scrabbles at whatever bits of Clint he can reach, skating over broad, freckled shoulders to the back of Clint’s neck before reluctantly letting go because he’s afraid if he holds on, he’s going to shove Clint’s face down and just fuck his mouth with abandon.

 

“Oh god,” he manages, blinking blearily up at the ceiling.  “Oh fuck.”

 

His hand glances off the crown of Clint’s head, his fingers ruffling through fine blond hair, further mussing what was already an epic case of bedhead.  

 

Clint’s been gone on a mission for the last three days, leaving Bucky to stew in a combination of feelings and guilt, sexual tension and the inability to relieve it to his own satisfaction.  The team had been called out before Bucky had quite come to terms with the revelations of a night spent in Clint’s bed, and Clint had gone out with a cocky smirk and a brief kiss goodbye, and when he’d come back, well-

 

Bucky hadn’t exactly been discrete or patient.  He’d been waiting on the roof, hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans, and Clint hadn’t been much more reserved than Bucky, only waiting until the rest of the team had made it through the door before plastering himself to Bucky’s chest, his full gear between them. The smell of leather and cordite, the way it was unyielding against Bucky’s soft t-shirt and worn denim, how just wearing it seemed to give Clint more _presence_ \- all of it served to make Bucky that much hotter.  

 

For fuck’s sake, Bucky hadn’t even let him shower.  Just dragged Clint off to his room still in his gear and then basically straight into bed.

 

They’re both naked now though, Clint sprawled between Bucky’s thighs, rutting gently against the mattress as he sucks Bucky’s dick like it’s his favorite treat, and Bucky tries not to shake apart in an embarrassingly short amount of time.  His hands ghost over Clint’s face, feeling how his jaw is working around the cock in his mouth, tracing the spit on his chin, and feeling the way his eyelashes are fanned out over his cheeks. Clint’s eyes are closed, like he’s savoring the experience, and something about that makes Bucky’s chest tie itself up in knots. 

 

“Fuck,” he says again, heavy and strangled.  _“Clint.”_

 

Clint hums out what might be agreement, or a question, or hell, anything, but all Bucky feels is electric sparks shooting up his spine, and he clenches his fist against his own hip to keep from grabbing at Clint’s face or head.  

 

Working a hand between them, Clint wraps his fingers around the base of Bucky’s cock as he pulls back until only the head is in his mouth, swirling his tongue around Bucky’s foreskin, setting all the nerve endings on the sensitive rim of his cock ablaze.  His left hand comes up to tangle his fingers with Bucky’s, giving him something to anchor himself to, and Bucky gratefully laces them together, gripping tight.  

 

Clint bobs his head down again, until his lips are touching the ring his thumb and forefinger have made, until he has Bucky’s cock about as far down his throat as it’s possible to be, and Bucky makes a keening, wanton sound as his hips press up into the contact without conscious intention.  

 

“I’m gonna come,” Bucky warns, breathing heavily.  “Clint, I’m-”

 

There’s another humming sound, this one vaguely affirmative, and Clint squeezes Bucky’s fingers in what can only be permission as Bucky feels his throat muscles contract around him as he swallows. 

 

It’s been a humiliatingly short amount of time, he’s sure, but it’s also the best blow job Bucky can ever remember getting and he’d dare anyone to last longer than he has, except he doesn’t want anyone else’s dick or anything else in Clint’s mouth, no one but his, just his cock buried in Clint’s throat and-

 

Clint hums again, sliding down to fondle Bucky’s balls, and that’s it, Bucky’s a goner. 

 

He comes with a groan, simultaneously relieved and euphoric; comes so hard that he can’t see, can’t _breathe_ , can only shake and shudder under Clint’s mouth, gripping tightly to the hand that’s holding his as the only point of reality he can focus on.  

 

“Oh god,” he says, over and over again.  “Oh _christ.”_

 

When Bucky opens his eyes - when Bucky is aware of the world again - Clint is lying with his cheek on Bucky’s stomach, tracing idle patterns on his hip with his free hand, his left still gripping Bucky’s loosely.  Bucky’s cock is lying limp and spent on his thigh, and his toes are still tingling with pleasure.  

 

“Holy shit,” Bucky says, blinking down at him, at the sweaty mess of hair and the aroused flush on Clint’s face.

 

Clint raises his head to look at him, grins a thousand-watt grin that’s almost like the one he’d given Bucky the first time he’d impressed him on the range.  That time, Bucky had said ‘holy shit’ in an entirely different context, but Clint looks no less thrilled at the praise. 

 

He shifts, moving fluidly, a little like he does sometimes in the field, a lot less like how he stumbles around before coffee in the morning, until he’s straddling Bucky’s thighs.  His cock is hard and red and flushed, wet at the tip, and he keeps his fingers entwined with Bucky’s as he reaches for it with his free hand. 

 

“Hi,” Clint says, still grinning, still pleased with himself.  “Mind if I?” He makes an obscene motion with his hand, like sitting on Bucky’s lap with his cock out isn’t already filthy.

 

“Be my guest,” Bucky mumbles, feeling like he’s going to melt into the mattress.  Christ, they haven’t even pulled the sheets back. Probably better for Clint to come all over him than the duvet anyway.  

 

Clint wraps his hand around his cock, not even starting with a tease, just jerking it like he’s ten seconds from coming and it’s a race to the finish line.  His eyes are bright, staring down at Bucky like he’s drinking him in, like Bucky’s scarred torso and punch-drunk face are really doing it for him. 

 

“Fuck,” Clint mutters, squeezing himself.  “I thought about this,” he admits, and Bucky feels his eyebrows go up.

 

Bucky thought about it too.  Maybe not this specifically, maybe not Clint jerking off all over him (although he’ll be thinking about it plenty from now on), but them together in bed naked? Yeah, Bucky thought about this a lot.  Especially while Clint was gone and Bucky was alone in this same bed, wishing Clint was with him.

 

“Me too,” he croaks, voice like gravel.  His cock gives a half-hearted twitch. 

 

It’s Clint’s turn to look surprised, but he’s pulling on his dick that much faster, like the admission that Bucky thinks about him is too much.  Bucky squeezes their still-joined fingers, not sure if he’s offering comfort or support or just a reminder that this is real and it’s really happening, but Clint squeezes back a half-second later.

 

Clint’s rocking over Bucky’s thighs now, pushing up into his own fist, his cock heavy and dark and shiny with precome, and Bucky can tell he’s close.

 

He opens his mouth, and something stupid falls out.

 

“I missed you,” Bucky says.

 

Clint groans like he’s _dying_ , like Bucky’s said something profound, and then he comes all over his fist and Bucky’s stomach in hot, wet spurts.  He finally lets go of Bucky’s hand, but only so that he can collapse forward, draping his heavy, exhausted frame over Bucky’s chest and breathing into his neck.  

 

“Missed you too,” Clint mumbles, his lips grazing over Bucky’s throat as he speaks. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Steph, who is sick and feeling awful and has been a tremendous friend - ilu bby

Cilnt’s got a hand around his cock and his mouth fastened to Bucky’s neck when the words come out of his mouth, unbidden. 

“I want you inside me,” Bucky pants. He is starkly, completely aware of what he’s asking for. 

He knows they’ve talked about this already, and that they’d decided, before, if anyone was gonna bottom first, it was gonna be Clint. Bucky’s never done it before - or he’s never done it that he can remember, anyway - and they’d decided it’d be easier to start with what at least one of them is familiar with.

But now, in the moment, Bucky wants something else. Wants a part of Clint _in_ him, physically, as much as Clint has already worked his way into Bucky’s heart emotionally, he wants some physical manifestation of that, and he doesn’t wanna wait for it. 

Clint pauses, pulls back to look at Bucky, to search his face.

“Please,” Bucky says, rocking up into the hand that’s still on his cock.

“You sure?” Clint asks, eyes crinkled a little in concern, but still flushed and aroused and clearly into the idea of it, even if it’s not what they talked about. 

“Yes,” Bucky says, beyond desperate. 

“Okay,” Clint says, easily. “Whatever you want, babe.”

And that’s one of the things Bucky thinks he loves best about Clint. He lets Bucky make his own decisions, but more than that, he _trusts_ Bucky to make decisions that are right for him in a way that no one else seems able to do. To trust that Bucky’s choices are the best ones _he_ can make, even if they’re not what someone _else_ would make. Steve is always questioning his choices, sounding doubtful - “If that’s what you want.” - in a way that leaves Bucky unsteady. 

Clint is always steady as a rock, though, always letting Bucky take the lead if he _wants_ to, never questions whether he’s ready to make the leap. 

Bucky surges up to kiss him, partially a thank you and partially the heated pulse of _want, want, want_ that is throbbing in his veins, and Clint groans into it, burying his hand in Bucky’s hair. “Now,” he says, when he can tear himself away. “I’m gettin’ desperate here.” 

And he is, because they rushed into the physical aspect of this relationship fast enough to make Bucky’s head spin, but they’ve held off on this part of it for weeks now, trading hand jobs and blow jobs, and rubbing off on each other in a hundred messy, creative ways, and Bucky _is_ desperate for it, has _been_ desperate for it, and now he feels ready for it too. 

“Turn over,” Clint says, more a breathless request than a demand, and Bucky has a brief moment of disappointment, just a small stab of _oh_ , because he’d-

Well, he’d imagined something face-to-face and intimate, and this is still intimate but not the _same_.

Clint seems to read it on his face though. “It’ll be better,” he promises, running his mouth over Bucky’s collarbone, swiping a tongue over his scarred shoulder. “I can make it so much better that way, you can relax. We can bend you up like a pretzel another time, I promise.”

Bucky snorts a laugh, but he rolls obligingly onto his stomach. Because even though this wasn’t what he thought he’d be getting, he still _trusts_ Clint in a way he hasn’t trusted anyone in a long, long time, and he trusts him especially with this. 

He fusses with a pillow, getting Bucky’s hips propped up, digging lube out of a drawer, and just generally fiddling in a way that Bucky knows means he’s nervous, and the idea of it, the thought that Clint _fucking_ Barton, who makes impossible shots with his eyes closed and has made Bucky come so hard he couldn’t see straight is nervous strikes something warm and fond in Bucky’s belly. 

“I’m dyin’ here,” he tells Clint, amused, as he glances over his shoulder to look at him. 

Clint looks a little dumbstruck, trailing his hands across Bucky’s spine and flank, but Bucky’s words seem to bring him back to the present, and he grins. “I got you,” he reassures, then drapes his body over Bucky’s back to plant warm, sloppy kisses on his neck and shoulders, trailing them down his spine. He rubs big, calloused hands across every inch of skin he can reach, until Bucky is practically melted into the pillows. It’s not until Clint hits the end of his tailbone and then keeps going that Bucky realizes where he’s headed and-

He groans, low and deep and utterly shameless as Clint’s tongue breaches him, licking into his body warm and wet and filthy in a way that sends a shiver up Bucky’s spine. 

“Oh _fuck,_ ” he says, fingers tangling in the sheets as he arches his back into it. 

Clint hums against him, another sensation to catalogue, along with the hot, wet flicker of his tongue and the way Clint is still stroking along his sides and cupping his ass to get a better angle. He licks Bucky open, until he’s practically dripping, sloppy with it and fucked out already even though he hasn’t even come. His dick is slick and throbbing underneath him and Bucky feels a little like he’s gonna go fucking insane. 

“Clint,” Bucky gasps into the pillow, and Clint seems to understand that for the plea that it is, because he gives one last teasing lick and then crouches up on his knees over Bucky to drag his mouth over Bucky’s back as he snaps open the lube and slides first one, and then two fingers into Bucky’s body, easy as you please. 

It’s a new sensation - not brand new, Bucky’s got plenty of self-exploration under his belt, thank you very much, and it’s not even his first foray into being fingered by Clint - but something about the _intent_ behind it, about how exposed he is like this - is different. Maybe because he knows where it’s leading, or maybe because he wants it so fucking bad. Bucky doesn’t know, but he’s arching into the touch just the same. 

“I got you,” Clint murmurs into his back, crooking his fingers and making Bucky cry out. 

Because it feels good, yeah, that scrape of fingers over his prostate, but more than that he knows Clint _does_ have him. 

He works a third finger into Bucky’s pliant, willing body, and there’s a little bit of stretch, just the slightest hint of burn, and then it’s nothing but a delicious feeling of fullness and the graze of fingertips over his prostate until Bucky is rocking back against Clint’s hand, shifting against the pillow under his hips and _aching_ for release. 

Bucky makes an embarrassingly broken sound, trying to get up on his knees for more leverage, when Clint takes his fingers away.

Clint shushes him, runs a soothing hand down his spine, and then he’s draping himself over Bucky’s back, nudging at Bucky’s loosened, stretched hole with his dick. “I got you,” Clint says again, and then he’s easing inside, working his hips in short, steady thrusts, a little deeper each time.

It’s a pleasant sting, a kind of burning stretch that Bucky knows is going to leave him sore later but for now just adds an edge to the pleasure that he _likes._ Clint is methodical and careful and easy, stopping to add lube a couple of times before pushing himself even deeper, until finally his hips are flush against Bucky’s and he’s panting between Bucky’s shoulder blades and trembling a little with the effort of keeping still. 

“You feel so good,” Clint tells him, low and wrecked-sounding. “Fuck, Bucky, baby - you feel so good.”

And Bucky is suddenly, fiercely glad that Clint coaxed him into this position, because having Clint inside him is overwhelming - he feels cracked open and vulnerable, like everything inside of him is going to spill out all over the place. All the love and appreciation and desperation to be loved for who he is and not who he was - all of that is going to fall out and at least this way Clint won’t _see_ it. Bucky can bury his face in the pillow while Clint invades his body the same way he’s invaded Bucky’s heart, and it will be so, so good and Bucky can enjoy it without worrying about what he’s giving away or what his face is doing.

Because despite all of this, Bucky still hasn’t told Clint how he feels. 

Now probably isn’t the time, he thinks, as Clint shifts behind him and Bucky nearly keens at the drag of his cock against his already-sensitive prostate. 

But soon. Clint has been giving Bucky soft looks he thinks Bucky doesn’t see, when they’re doing stupid, simple things, like watching _Dog Cops_ or making grilled cheese sandwiches. Bucky thinks his feelings might be welcome - might be returned. 

Clint rocks his hips again, slow and easy, and Bucky gives up on thought and just lets himself _feel._

It’s almost like a dream. Clint keeps his movements steady and shallow, aiming for that place inside Bucky’s body that feels like the good kind of electric shocks up his spine, restrains himself to the kind of movement that will only make Bucky feel good, as considerate a lover as Bucky could have asked for, even when Bucky is clawing at the sheets and tears are squeezing out of the corners of his eyes and he begs for more. 

“Please,” he says - practically sobs - pushing back against Clint’s body and forward into the pillow and desperate for release. 

“I got you,” Clint says, again, and he really does, because he reaches out to tangle the fingers of their left hands together, metal entwined with flesh, and slips a still-slick hand between Bucky and the pillow, giving him something to fuck into when Clint’s thrusts drive him forward. 

Bucky gasps at the combination of sensations, at the hot, tight grip of Clint’s fist, at the steady sensation of Clint filling him up and thrusting against his prostate, of the way he’s keeping himself under strict control, keeping his thrusts to something that will only bring pleasure, something that’s not too much or too hard or too fast, and Bucky can feel tears leaking from his eyes. He turns his head to see their fingers tangled up together and something about that winds Bucky up even more, the trust that Clint must have to put their hands together like that at a time when Bucky could lose control. 

The goddamn vulnerability of it, combined with Bucky’s own vulnerability sends him toppling over the edge, shaking and shuddering in Clint’s arms as he comes apart, as Clint keeps up his unbreakable control. He is unwavering in his rhythm until Bucky is nearly done, until he’s down to the last vestiges of orgasm, his body clenching and unclenching and his fingers gripping Clint’s tightly enough to bruise, and then finally, _finally_ Clint seems to let himself go, his rhythm erratic and jerky but still somehow considerate as he sighs into Bucky’s hair and spills inside of him, squeezing Bucky’s hand. 

“Okay?” Clint asks him, a little while later, when he’s coaxed Bucky onto his side and cleaned both of them up, and wiped at Bucky’s tear tracks with his thumbs, all gentle concern.

“Great,” Bucky tells him, smiling sleepily. “10 out of 10, would fuck again.”

Clint snorts out a delighted-sounding laugh, before pulling Bucky close and tucking his head under Clint’s chin. “I’d give you a solid 11,” he says, eventually, because they’re a lot of things with each other now - sometimes soft, sometimes gentle - but they’re still competitive assholes at heart. 

Bucky rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue, because this soft afterglow thing they’ve got goin’ on is pretty nice and he wants to enjoy it while it lasts. 

Sleep comes easily, tangled up in bed together, and Bucky thinks again about words he’s left unsaid, but drifts off before he manages to get them out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This did not go where I planned, and yet here we are.


	6. Chapter 6

“Hey,” Bucky says around slow, drugging kisses. He and Clint have been on Clint’s sofa, casually making out for long enough that his lips have gone tingly and kind of numb from stubble burn, and the twisting curl of arousal in his gut has settled into something warm and banked instead of immediate and needy. “Hey,” he says again, as Clint moves to trail his lips across Bucky’s jaw instead. 

Clint lifts his head to look at Bucky, and Bucky takes in a sharp breath. Clint’s mouth is swollen and red, and his eyes are dilated so far that Bucky can barely tell they’re even blue. He looks _wrecked_ , and the way his hips are still pushing into Bucky’s in long, rolling thrusts means that Bucky’s feeling a little wrecked himself. 

“You wanna finish fooling around and then order a pizza?” Bucky asks, dazed. He’d considered the reverse, but then Clint _looked_ at him like that. 

“Fuck,” Clint says, cracking a grin. “Fuck, you read my mind. I love you.” 

He bends down to apply his mouth to the sensitive place behind Bucky’s ear before Bucky can even respond, and something about the casual way Clint’s said it, the way he’d looked so _happy_ trips something in Bucky’s brain and in his gut and the next thing he knows he’s arching up underneath Clint’s hands and coming in his pants with a choked-off gasp.

There’s a moment of silence, a moment where Clint continues at the same, steady pace, rolling thrusts that leave Bucky shuddering and oversensitive, and then Clint leans up again, looking down at Bucky in surprise.

“Did you-”

Bucky closes his eyes, feels his face flush as Clint trails off.

“Did you just come in your pants?” Clint finally asks, sounding confused.

“Shut up,” Bucky says, but he’s betrayed by how wrung out and hoarse he sounds. He tries to pull Clint down by the shoulder, but Clint refuses to budge, and Bucky is forced to open his eyes again.

Clint is grinning down at him like it’s Christmas, obviously delighted. “Did I just make the _Winter_ _Soldier_ come in his _pants_?” he asks.

“Oh my god, could you just-” Bucky tugs at Clint again, pushes his own pelvis up as he wraps a leg around Clint’s waist in an effort to distract him. 

It doesn’t work. 

“Wait, wait,” Clint says, clearly settling in. He works an arm under Bucky’s head and starts brushing hair out of his face with tender fingers. He settles his hips into the vee of Bucky’s thighs, but he doesn’t resume his languorous thrusts. Instead, he just pins Bucky to the sofa with his body weight. “Tell me what I did,” he says, still looking elated. “I wanna know what was so good.”

Bucky clenches his jaw silently, tearing his gaze away from Clint’s face and toying with the sleeve of his shirt instead. 

“C’mon,” Clint wheedles, “I can’t do it again if I don’t know what it was.” He drops down to nibble at Bucky’s throat, where Bucky can’t see his face and that makes it both better and worse.

It’s better because Bucky can’t see the look on Clint’s face, and it’s worse because he _can’t see the look on Clint’s face_. 

He doesn’t know if Clint meant the words he said, or if it was just-

Just something he’d let slip, something casual that he didn’t really _mean_. 

They’re words that Bucky’s been biting off behind his teeth for months, and to have Clint drop them nonchalantly into the air between them like they’re nothing, well, that’s doing weird things to Bucky’s insides. 

“You said you loved me,” Bucky finally manages, after what feels like an eternity of Clint pressing soft kisses to his face, to the corners of his eyes and mouth, to the edge of his collarbone where it’s peeking out of his shirt, to the tender skin just above his pulse point. He’s still hard between Bucky’s thighs, but he’s stopped moving except for these gentle, delicate kisses.

Bucky keeps his eyes shut, but he can’t miss the way Clint goes completely still above him, and he braces himself for the worst.

“Is that- is that okay?” Clint says, and it comes out like it’s choking him a little. The tone makes Bucky look up in surprise to where he can see Clint is watching him warily. He looks nervous but determined, sort of like how he’d looked when Bucky had turned up on his floor after the sex pollen shenanigans. 

“Is what okay? Is it okay to say you love me?”

Clint nods.

“Only if you mean it,” Bucky decides and, because Clint isn’t the only one who has something to confess, adds- “Only if it’s okay to love you back.”

The smile Clint gives him is nearly blinding. There’s nothing tentative in it, nothing hidden or shadowed or uncertain about it at all. “Yeah,” he says, around the happiness on his face, “yeah, that’d be okay.” And he says _that_ like it’s casual too, but Bucky recognizes it for what it is, the faux-casuality a kind of bravado that’s hiding how exposed Clint really feels. 

This time, when Bucky cups his hand around Clint’s jaw and pulls him down, Clint goes easily. He lets Bucky bring their mouths together into a kiss that’s not really shy, but isn’t really taking advantage of how well they know how to kiss each other by now. It feels different in some indefinable way that thrills Bucky a little. 

He thinks maybe it’s the way Clint is letting him tilt his jaw and explore his mouth without trying to direct it in any way, just letting Bucky have whatever he likes.

And if that’s the case-

Bucky pushes at Clint’s shoulder until he coaxes him into moving, until he convinces Clint with his mouth and his body to swap positions and Clint is underneath him. Clint loses his shirt somewhere in the process, and Bucky is quick to throw his off too, but he leaves his damp, sticky jeans for now, because he wants this to be all about Clint. 

He’s got his mouth on Clint’s chest and a hand halfway down his sweatpants before Clint lifts his head off the armrest to speak. 

“My turn?” he asks, smirking a little, but he’s flushed and his pupils are blown, and his heart is going a mile a minute beneath Bucky’s lips. 

“Your turn,” Bucky affirms, shifting his hand so that he can run his thumb from the base of Clint’s cock to the tip. Clint’s hips jerk up into the touch involuntarily, and it’s Bucky’s turn to smirk. “Got any special requests?”

“Well,” Clint says, squirming when Bucky strokes over him again, “I was going to ask you to fuck me, but not this time, I guess.” He pauses, either to catch his breath or because Bucky’s leaving biting little marks over his ribs and running gentle fingers over his balls, or because-

“Guess that rumor about super soldier stamina is fake,” Clint says, the words tangled up with a laugh and a breathy exhalation. 

Bucky snorts into his skin. “What rumor about super soldier stamina?” he asks, knowing he’s going to regret it. 

“Nat says-” Clint groans when Bucky fists his cock, then takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Nat says the serum means a ah- a shorter recovery time.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky sits up, the damp place in his jeans and the lack of short recovery time fairly obvious as he drags Clint’s sweats down his legs and tosses them aside before settling back between Clint’s knees. “Nat makes shit up to see what you’re gonna say,” Bucky informs him. “But I can fuck you,” he says, against the bare skin of Clint’s hip. “I can fuck you with my hand.” He runs his fingertips behind Clint’s balls and between his cheeks, feels the way he presses down into the touch and parts his thighs a little more. “I can fuck you with my mouth.” He drags his mouth from Clint’s hip to the crease in his thigh, and lower, until he can run his tongue along the soft patch of skin between where his fingers are exploring and Clint’s balls are drawing up close to his body. 

“Fuck,” Clint breathes, and Bucky hears the _thunk_ of his head hitting the armrest. 

“I can fuck you with my _other_ hand,” Bucky tells him, squeezing Clint’s hip with his metal fingers.

“Oh god,” Clint moans, and Bucky honestly wasn’t expecting the _way_ he says it, like Bucky’s said the sexiest thing Clint’s ever heard, like he’s offering every fantasy he’s ever had rolled into one. 

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, swapping the fingers teasing at Clint’s hole for the metal ones, still just trailing them lightly across the tightly-clenched muscle. 

“Please,” is all Clint manages to get out. He’s got his lower lip caught between his teeth, and he’s flushed all the way down his chest. 

Bucky leans over him, pressing their mouths together and easing Clint’s lip from between his teeth only to catch it in his own and bite down oh-so-gently. Clint groans into his mouth, and Bucky runs a soothing hand up his side.

Or it would be soothing, if he wasn’t still teasing at Clint’s rim with his fingertips. 

“Whatever you want,” Bucky tells him. “Let me go grab lube, babe, I’ll be right back.”

Clint huffs out a little noise and mutters something Bucky doesn’t quite catch. “What?”

“Between the cushions,” Clint tells him, sounding the slightest bit sullen about it. 

Bucky laughs. “Were you planning to get lucky?” But he digs around behind the cushions until he finds the familiar plastic bottle. 

“Was hopin’,” Clint says, as Bucky snaps the cap. 

The banter gets lost as Bucky lubes his hand carefully, and sets the bottle aside in easy reach. The sound Clint makes when Bucky eases his first finger in is something that’ll be caught in his dreams, a punched-out whimper that sets Bucky on _fire_. 

“Okay?” Bucky asks, wrapping himself up around Clint, even as he’s gently rocking his finger in and out of Clint’s body. He gets Clint’s thigh hooked over his hip and his arms around his shoulders, and all he can see is the dazed, almost dreamy expression on Clint’s face.

“Good,” Clint slurs. “So good.” And Jesus, he’s already _wrecked_ and Bucky’s barely touched him. 

Then again, they’ve had hours of foreplay and Bucky may have gotten off, but Clint hasn’t yet. 

So Bucky nudges their mouths together and keeps kissing him, keeps stroking his tongue with Clint’s. Soon enough, Clint is just panting against him more than participating, and he’s easing a third finger into the tight squeeze of his body. Bucky’s hand can sense the pressure and that’s about it, but whatever he’s losing in sensory input is more than made up for with the look on Clint’s face, with the way he’s arching into Bucky’s touch and riding his fingers to get the perfect angle. His cock is pressed up against Bucky’s stomach, leaving a damp trail with every jerky thrust of his hips and all of it is just about perfect.

“You good sweetheart?” Bucky asks, almost unnecessarily. If Clint was any more good he’d be in the stratosphere, but Bucky still wants to check. 

“Yeah,” Clint groans the word as he wraps his thigh a little tighter around Bucky. “Faster?” 

Bucky does what he asks, gliding his hand in and out of Clint’s body at a faster pace, curling his fingers to get the perfect angle. He knows he’s got it when Clint makes another of those noises, the small, soft ones in the back of his throat that mean he’s close to the edge. 

“You gonna come for me?” Bucky murmurs into Clint’s ear, biting gently on the edge of his jaw. “Am I fucking you good enough to make you come?” He twists his wrist as he says it, and Clint _whines_ , high-pitched and needy, so Bucky does it again.

And again.

And again.

Clint is making a constant string of fucked-out, hoarse sounds, his jaw clenched and his eyes screwed shut as Bucky fucks him with his fingers right up against his prostate. 

“Love you,” Bucky tells him, soft and low, like it’s meant to be soothing but has the exact opposite effect, because Clint lets out a shuddering sob and comes all over both of them, his hips bucking up between them. Bucky presses gentle kisses to the side of his face, his neck, his shoulder while Clint rides out his orgasm, gasping and twitching underneath him. He’s got tear tracks at the corners of his eyes that Bucky swipes away gently with his thumb as Clint pants for air and his whole body goes slack. 

Bucky eases his fingers out of Clint, one gentle, steady movement at a time, and Clint makes a little bereft noise at the loss but only moves to tuck his body in closer to Bucky’s when he’s done, like he’s trying to fit the extra inches of height he’s got under Bucky’s chin despite the fact that physics doesn’t work that way. Bucky twists until he has Clint sprawled out on his chest with his feet hanging off the edge of the couch and both arms wrapped around him, and that seems to be enough. 

“Holy shit,” Clint says after a while, hoarse and ruined. “Holy _shit_ ,” he says, again, like Bucky hasn’t heard him the first time. 

“Good?” Bucky asks, amused. He’s so comfortable he feels like he’s going to melt into the couch, like this weight he hadn’t known he’d been carrying is gone, or maybe it’s just the lightness of knowing that Clint feels the same way he’s felt for what seems like forever. 

“Holy shit, if I’d known it was gonna be like that, I’d have got hit with that sex pollen crap _myself_.”

Bucky chuckled. “Sweetheart, if I’d known you were interested, it wouldn’t have taken some kinda garbage chemical aphrodisiac to get me in your bed”

Clint leans up on his elbow to look at Bucky in disbelief. “What?”

Bucky shrugs a little uncomfortably, not prepared to be on the spot. “I was interested before… you know,” he makes a vague jerk-off motion. “Just didn’t know whether to say anything. Maybe go for coffee or whatever.”

“What?” Clint says again, eyes wide.

Bucky squirms under his gaze. 

“You mean to tell me,” Clint starts, then flops back onto Bucky’s chest. “You mean to tell me we could have been doin’ this for-” he pauses to figure it out then obviously gives up, “-this whole time? And instead I had to _wait_ for you to get _poisoned_ and need a drug-relieving handjob?”

Bucky thinks about it for a second. “Yeah, kinda. You coulda made a move too, you know.”

Clint scoffs, but settles in deeper to Bucky’s embrace. “Whatever,” he grouses into Bucky’s collarbone. “We did this all backwards.” He makes another affronted sound. “And what if Natasha had gone on that mission instead of me?”

Bucky can’t help the unattractive snort of laughter that comes out at that, but he gets a hand under Clint’s chin and nudges his face up into another kiss, something soft and reassuring. “I promise any future sex pollen exposure will be strictly your department, okay?”

“Better be,” Clint grumbles, settling back down. “Dibs. I call dibs.”

“On the drugs or me?” Bucky asks him, amused and fond and warm somewhere under his rib cage.

“Both,” Clint says, firmly. “Dibs on both.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steph beta read this chapter as well, but she deserves the shoutiest of all shoutouts because she had to hold my literal hand to write this to be honest, from the first mention of 'I think this is going to be Clint Ruins The Whole Thing Because He Doesn't Have a Romantic Bone in his Body' she gave me her unwavering support and helped me work out where to start, where to go, and where to end. Honestly she's been amazing. 
> 
> Also shouts to: Everyone who screamed about metal arms in the BDBD server, because you inspire me, to Clara who ALSO had to listen to me whine about this chapter and how Clint wouldn't take it seriously and still said it would be great, and especially to Amy and Nny who challenged me to write this and I almost kind of completed the challenge (I think the chapters were supposed to be less than 1500 words and this one definitely is not BUT I TRIED OKAY) I love you both!
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading, commenting, and encouraging me. Y'all are the best.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a song. There may come a day when I don't name my fics after song lyrics, but today is not that day.


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